Sand Soldiers
by Thebugfuckabitch
Summary: A company of convicted felons are made to fight for the NCR in the hot blazing sands of the Mojave Wasteland.What horrors await them?


Note-This is sort of a pilot for writting could use some work and i would appreciate some criticism but please try to keep it constructive.  
If this does well,i'm probably gonna write some more but who knows..  
Here's the Prologue  
The fence of the prison blew open and the Penal Company charged Powder Gangers in the courtyard were caught off guard,stumbling from their chairs and fumbling for their fell to the ground next to a pile of rubble and began to take Gangers were easy prey in their disorganized form,never managing to get to the safety of the warden's noticed a Ganger on the guard tower shooting a standard issue NCR rifle from his took a deep breath and pulled the saw his right hand turn into a pile of red mist,stumbling and screaming,before falling down and imapling himself on a steel rod.  
At this point the Gangers managed to get organized and retreated into their concrete buildings,firing at the heavily exposed soldiers from the windows.  
"What the fuck are you doing !?"yelled a voice that was familiar to was his squad leader Travis.  
"Get up private before i jam my fucking boot up your ass!".Red complied  
Travis was running towards the blocks,grenade in were hitting the sand beneath their feet,and Red was struggling to eject the bolt of his rusty hunting rifle while pulled the pin on his grenade,kicked the door open and threw it in,before rushing in.A bloody torso layed in the middle of the room,his face gone.  
A man wearing a prison uniform was stumbling around,his face a collage of blood and dust,  
an expression of shock and pain etched into his mute face.  
A shot ran out and he fell down to the floor.  
Red and other members of his squad ran in,checking the cells for enemies and most importantly to cells were devoid of life,stained with darkened blood and littered with empty cans and whiskey bunk beds were thrown up against the walls or on the floor,leftovers from the prison riot.  
Red surveyed the a mattress in the corner of the room,near a rusted toilet sat a crumpled bandana,a pack of cigars and a 9mm pistol with two clips next to it.  
He crouched down,reloaded the 9mm and stuck it into his stuck the pack into his pocket and tied the bandana around his forhead,serving as a headband.  
He walked outside and saw a soldier grinning and and spinning a Magnum revolver around his middle finger.  
"Look at this motherfucker,thinking he's a Great Khan or some shit."  
for smuggling chems to his company.  
"Where the fuck did you get that piece?"  
"Well,there was this guy that didn't need it anymore so i took it from him..The grin never left his face.  
Corporal Jenkins stepped out of a cell,smeared with blood and wielding a combat knife.  
Soldiers were all in their collective cells,sacking corpses and turning over got something out of the that used to belong to the guards of this facility,dynamite,booze,chems,rifles,knives,pipes...  
"Alright,you fucking prospectors there's still more people to shoot,let's go!"  
They shuffled outside,carrying and concealing their collective spoils of war.  
The courtyard was soldiers sat on a table,drinking vodka straight from the bottle,their rifles in their lap.  
"This shit already over?"-said Red and stuck a cigar into his mouth.  
The soldier opened his eyes,sat the bottle down on the table and shouted:  
"Sure is,look what i got!"-he raised a laser rifle into the air and smiled.  
The courtyard was starting to fill up with carried a wide assortment of weapons and wide assortment of gear with were being carried out.  
Some were just being sat battle was over.  
Corpses of soldiers and convicts were mixed in the courtyard,seemingly floating in pools of their mixed blood.  
Red lit his cigar and placed his rifle next to him,watching the scavengers turn the corpses over and frisk their pockets.  
The cigar had a terrible studied his needed to remove the rust from it.A powerful and accurate thing,but slow and worn by age.  
He got lucky in all the best pick but no the worst pick of his comrades did have better weapons like the caravan shotgun or the cowboy repeater,but some of them got varmint rifles and pistols.  
They were a mixed bunch,taken from various holding cells in and near the Mojave,shepreded to the Mojave Outpost and armed with were not given any armor expect the standard NCR uniform and they were given no identification.  
They were criminals and outcasts,shaped by bureaucrats back in Shady Sands,supposed to serve as cannon fodder for the Mojave Campaign.  
Their sins were various and numerous,their backrounds fogged and their future bleak.  
Not of all of them were of them were in the wrong place at the wrong time,some stepped on the toes of some NCR hot-shots and some were just fuck ups that barely got through basic training.  
There they were,all 123 of them,organized into 4 platoons and 8 set fort from the Mojave Outpost,led by a man named Captain Brown,a disgraced former millitary police captain,who after a scandal involving the brutal beating and death of a prisoner was reassigned to lead the company.  
Red was tought of his house back in Klamath and his old tought about his brothers and tought about that whore in the tought about the night he broke into an NCR ranchers home and made tried to steal a Brahim and roast it.  
He tought about the holding cell and the fast talking drunk gambler that wa-  
His train of tought of was interrupted by a swift kick in his stomach  
"Get up maggot.".It was Jenkins.  
Jenkins was a and overpowered women on and off-duty in dark alleyways until he was overpowered some reason he also kept his rank with him.  
"There's some more convicts left around this area and our fucking platoon has to take care of them"-he laughed and took a swig from a bottle of vodka.  
Red tossed his cigar asside,picked up his rifle and began walking behind Jenkins... 


End file.
